


Cacoēthes

by Arianne, noahfronsenburg, patrexes



Series: Novæ Bonus Res [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Canon Consensual Incestuous Relationship, Come Marking, Consensual but a Bad Idea, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent Due To Circumstances, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Epistolary, First Time, Intercrural Sex, Lingua Latīna | Latin, M/M, Metafiction, Misgendering, Moral Bankruptcy, Morosexual Representation, Multi, Nipple Play, Political Banter as Foreplay, Post-Suicide Mission, Power Imbalance, Scent Kink, Size Difference, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 05:32:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19100698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianne/pseuds/Arianne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/noahfronsenburg/pseuds/noahfronsenburg, https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrexes/pseuds/patrexes
Summary: [ka.koˈeː.tʰes] (neuter noun, inflected in the 3rd)An irresistible urge to do something inadvisable.





	Cacoēthes

**Author's Note:**

> From Ancient Allag _κακοήθης_ (kakoḗthēs, “ill-disposed”) from _κακός_ (kakós, “bad”) + _ἦθος_ (êthos, “disposition, nature”). In the field of mental health, it is the name used of obsessional journaling or drawing.

Stipendia prima subāctus est[11] Soli zos Galvi contuberniō[12]; tamdiū coībātur[13] eum atque fidēlissimus[14] im pedicātus[15] quīcum erāt, non sine rūmōre prōstrātæ[16] imperātōrī pudīcitiæ[17] saltus erāt[18]; quem rūmōrem auxit[19] ab Lupus[20] Umbram cognōminis acceptus erāt[21]. Reliqua mīlitia secundiōre fāma fuit et ab implēbat[22] V cīvitātum postūsurpātiōne[23], zos Galvus Bælsarī largiēbātur[24] ōrdinem lēgātī XIV legiōque[25].

M. Mako translation:

[Bælsar] served his first campaign on the personal staff of Solus zos Galvus. So loyal was he and loitering so often in Solus zos Galvus’ company that it was rumored that he had improper relations with the Emperor; and this rumour was exacerbated when the Black Wolf was allowed to become Bælsar’s epithet. During the rest of the campaign he enjoyed a better reputation, and when he saw five cities taken by storm, zos Galvus, satisfied by his service, awarded him the rank of Legatus and levied for him the XIVth legion.

A. Pelsar translation:

On his first campaign, [Bælsar] ‘serviced’ Solus zos Galvus and attended to all his needs; so often was he joined with him and so loyal did he remain in the course of this use, it was rumored that in exchange for [the Emperor’s] respect [Bælsar] even fell to his knees before him to be mounted like a bitch and tied as if he were an omega. This rumor was only exacerbated when Bælsar let ‘The Black Wolf’ become his epithet. In subsequent campaigns, [Bælsar] gained a better reputation, and after he had conquered five cities, zos Galvus lavished Bælsar with the rank of Legatus and command of the XIVth legion for having satisfied him well.

* * *

— Suo sas Antonius, _De vita Lēgātorum_ , vol. II, trans. M. Mako, A. Pelsar; annotations by A.P.

**Editor’s note:** Mako’s refusal to be explicit with the sexual connotations of sas Antonius’ language is a damning oversight on an otherwise-seminal translation. Since Mako’s translation was so early (c. 1200 7AE), the long-term effects of his moralizing is incalculable: it is in emulating him that reconstructions of the Imperial period in Garlemald have always left out non-heterospectual relationships. There is no need to romanticize Gaius iyl Bælsar’s experiences with other alphas (especially given one was his daughter), but censoring his being bispectual with a preference for alphas is wholly inappropriate. Any translator who leaves this off is either homophobic, a coward, or both. — ᠠ.

 

 

“I must congratulate you, boy,” said Gaius van Bælsar, Legatus of the XIVth Imperial Legion, Viceroy of Ala Mhigo and Consul of Eorzea. “Some two hundred dead or at its door, the Great Gubal Library burnt to the ground, all Sharlayan in open revolt, and first thing this morning my daughter arriving in _tears_ over your sister’s resignation. Had you intended such chaos, rest assured you succeeded.”

“The Legatus himself,” Alphinaud replied, waiting long enough to make rudeness a certainty (and to be sure no distress would be heard in his voice), “come to gloat over a boy.”

“The Legatus himself,” said man corrected, “come to make a query. Why you?”

The Legatus stood on the other side of Alphinaud’s cell door in full uniform. The monstrous silhouette of his helmet was even more menacing when no light caught the eyes of the visor. He stood at parade rest, as if intending to keep watch over his prisoner himself. “Why you?” he repeated. “Any child can be a martyr. Why pick the foremost among the Sharlayan Resistance?”

Alphinaud did not answer. Anxiety rose up in his stomach, crawling up his throat in the lengthy silence before the man finally turned to leave, and by then he could not hold it back. “What of my sister?”

The Legatus glanced back towards him from halfway down the corridor, his helmet as unfeeling as any mean piece of steel.

“Twenty years of military service are required for citizenship. She has served two. Should Alisaie pyr Leveilleur resign her commission now, it would be tantamount to desertion.” So saying, he left.

 

 

 

The Legatus returned twice more for the answer to his query, both times standing in silence until it became clear Alphinaud would not offer it.

The third morning, van Bælsar arrived with a curule seat, unfolded it to sit in front of Alphinaud’s cell with his elbows upon his knees, fingers laced together. He _reeked_ of alpha.

The Legatus stared at Alphinaud.

Alphinaud stared back. He very loudly took a bite of the bruised apple which comprised his breakfast and spat the seed from the core out at the man’s feet.

“Why you?” This time, he continued, “Long have I thought on this, and I know what drives a man to make himself a martyr, but what I cannot conclude is why the Resistance would consider such a tactic—surely you are a weapon of far more use alive than dead.”

Alphinaud replied: “Cui bono?” _To whom?_

The Legatus studied Alphinaud’s features. Whatever he found there, he at last acknowledged, “You are certainly your grandfather’s grandchild.”

 

 

 

The next day, van Bælsar set up first his curule seat and then a game of latrones. “Are you a wagering sort, Master Leveilleur? Winner earns a question.” The Legatus paused, then added, “Lest you waste your victory, know that I cannot release you.”

“I would not have asked,” said Alphinaud.

“Oh?”

“‘Twould be a request, not a query—a wholly different thing to promise.”

After a beat, and with a note in his voice that might read as _impressed_ , the Legatus said only, “Indeed.”

Lacking anything else to do, Alphinaud nudged his empty chamber pot over and flipped it so he had something to sit on that would get him high enough to see the board. “The first move is yours,” the Legatus offered.

The game ended near as soon as it began. Alphinaud, familiar with Garlean tactics, had assumed the certainty of an easy victory—only for Gaius van Bælsar, in but two moves, to flip the board. Perhaps it was time to admit that thus far he had not _once_ successfully taken a read on the Legatus of the XIVth.

“Tell me,” van Bælsar began as he cleared the board. “What would make peace with Sharlayan?”

Alphinaud stared at him like he had just asked for the moon; received in return a single shrug of a broad shoulder. “I tire of wasting resources, economic or otherwise. Sending civilians to their graves is of little use to either side. What would you have me to do?”

Numb with a feeling not unlike shock, Alphinaud said, “I should think the first welcome draw of a gunblade would be against the infestation of vilekin at St. Mocianne’s.”

“Hmm,” said Gaius van Bælsar.

 

 

 

Every morning, the Legatus would come and take breakfast with Alphinaud, set up the latrones board, and wager a single question. The first three days, van Bælsar won, and each time asked what would see Sharlayan to peace.

On the fourth day, Alphinaud won at last. He had _expected_ van Bælsar to play as did van Darnus: Næl favored blitzkrieg, willing to take any loss so long as she won. The Legatus of the XIVth instead forced his opponent into destroying themselves.

It was, of course, exactly how Gaius van Bælsar had taken Eorzea.

Alphinaud’s question was simple: “What of my sister?”

“Had I not mentioned it?” The Legatus glanced at his face, saw his answer. “You need not waste a question upon that. She went with the Tribunus Laticlavius to deal with St. Mocianne’s. Livia has always loved a good fire.” Alphinaud well remembered how the Siege of Gridania was said to have ended: the Elder Seedseer’s defiled corpse on the floor of the Lotus Stand and Livia’s solemn promise that, should the Elementals not accept her proffered peace, they would find the Black Shroud in flames. “Your sister seemed surprised to find the suggestion had come from you.”

Alphinaud hummed an acknowledgement, the closest to thanks which would not turn to ash on his tongue. “Why me, then?” he asked, turning van Bælsar’s query back on himself. “Surely you are not so desperate for a partner in latrones you would stay an insurrectionist’s execution.”

“You intrigue me, Master Leveilleur,” van Bælsar replied, a _smile_ audible in his voice. “That is all.”

 

 

 

As days stretched into weeks, the Legatus visited whenever his schedule allowed. Much to his own consternation, Alphinaud began to look _forward_ to it, a welcome diversion from the constant aching chill the gaol and its unforgiving cot had rendered to his hips and back. When van Bælsar took his meals, Alphinaud averted his gaze out of respect for the man’s privacy, but could not help but notice that—while there was a coloring he had come to expect of pureblood Garleans—van Bælsar’s skin was dark enough he could have been himself a Leveilleur.

At first, Alphinaud had hesitated to speak his mind. But once he had been given a willing ear, how quickly that dam had broken: following that first game of latrones, van Bælsar brought with him a small notebook in which to scrawl down Alphinaud’s advice and explanations of Eorzean sociopolitical complexities which the Legatus had never picked up.

Alphinaud had expected the myth of the Black Wolf: the Emperor’s most loyal hound, grown sour with age and uncaring of the lives he disposed of on the march to Solus’ conquest. Næl had described van Bælsar as an empty suit of armor with no care for anything beyond the opportunity to serve his master. Or, as Cid had once characterized his father in a letter, _unlovable_.

None had proven true.

“You are distracted,” the Legatus observed one afternoon, concern writ large, his voice softer and his accent thicker without his helmet. Alphinaud, studying the board between them, curled up with his chin on his knees. “If it is hunger that ails you—” van Bælsar began, and raised up his half-eaten meal, homemade and, if possible, even more unappetizing than gaol rations.

“I am _tired_ , sir,” Alphinaud corrected, ill-tempered and unwilling to curb his tongue though the gesture had been nothing but kind. “Tell me,” he went on, shifting restlessly against the pain that had settled in his abdomen, “what comes next? You have held me here for nearly a month. Am I to be forevermore your hostage?”

“I submitted the formal request for your release four days ago, to a stunning lack of gratitude on the part of your sister,” Gaius replied, as if discussing the weather. Which he did. _Often_. “Being a political dissident, the approval of the Senate Judicial Council is required, which may yet take days. There are other channels, of course, but I would prefer your future career in politics remain undaunted despite your anarchistic ways.” The Legatus snorted. “If you are bullheaded enough still unpresented to have fooled me, fully matured you'll be nothing less than an alpha among alphas; I can only hope you will take a place on the Senate and give your peers hell.”

“I hardly know what to say,” Alphinaud murmured. He felt heat rise in his cheeks and the pit of his stomach: the Legatus of the XIVth was not a man given to flattery, and he had just spoken of Alphinaud—

An alpha among alphas. If Gaius van Bælsar, one of the most powerful alphas in the world, said it—could it not be true? It was almost beyond imagining. Alphinaud had written that sort of future off: he and Alisaie were, at seventeen and yet-unpresented, years behind any reasonable age to expect it.

“‘Tis only the truth. I have known many great men in my life; you seem sure to surpass them all.”

Unable to compose a reply, Alphinaud reached out and, in a single move, took the entire board. Rather than address the cacophonic mix of emotions knotted in his chest, he said: “I could use another blanket.”

 

 

 

That night, no number of blankets made sleep come. The ache in Alphinaud’s hips had settled in like a knife, his spine tender and stiff. Nothing made him warm, and even when he shoved his pillow under his pelvis, the soreness refused to shift. Even a fitful doze was to be denied him, for Alphinaud woke instantly at the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Alphinaud?”

For a moment, Alphinaud thought it was time for breakfast and latrones. Still half in a fugue, it took twice as long as it should have for him to sit up, scrub his eyes, process what he saw.

“Gaius?”

Gaius van Bælsar was not a sheepish man, but in that moment, he managed. “I brought you a blanket.”

Seeing the man’s face in full for the first time, Alphinaud could tell that father and son had been cut from the same stone: Gaius and Cid shared the same broad jawline, hooded eyes, and square chin. Greying strands of Gaius’ hair—closer to auburn than chestnut—lay scattered across his broad forehead, drew Alphinaud’s gaze to the Legatus’ third eye, pale in contrast to his skin. A few days worth of careless, forgetful stubble had grown in over the man’s dagger-fine cheekbones; the full bow of his lips softened the firm line of his mouth.

The lamps were too low to tell what color Gaius’ eyes were. A mercurial gold, perhaps, the flicker of light atop the water.

Alphinaud’s hips twinged. “Please.”

At his request, Gaius unlocked the cell door and stepped inside. Alphinaud held his arms out for the quilt, curled his fingers into the soft fabric, sighed in relief. It was very warm, Gaius’ body heat and scent lingering still. After their weeks of meeting, Alphinaud would have known that smell anywhere. It was quite nearly comforting, _familiar._

“May I?” Gaius gestured in query before sitting at the end of Alphinaud’s cot, moving with greater facility out of armor. Alphinaud studied him, searching for where Legatus ended and man began—but found that the twain had become nigh-inseparable.

If anything, like this, Gaius’ life in the legions was emphasized, gambeson tight against the width of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist. The Legatus was no longer a young man, but there was power still in every ilm of his body, from the column of his neck to the taper of his calf. Even his hands were a swordsman’s hands—nicked all over with pale scars, rough with callouses and dense with muscle visible beneath his skin as he pressed his thumbs together in thought.

“You’ve my thanks,” Alphinaud murmured, feeling properly _warm_ for the first time in days. A smile flickered at the corner of the Legatus’ mouth, hidden in his fine wrinkles—and Alphinaud flushed, rubbed the side of his neck. “My constitution is hardly suited to a cell, even were it not for the cold snap.”

“On the morrow you’ve the run of the guest quarters until I get that damn dispatch back; the Senate can go to the hells for all I care.” Gaius dragged the fingers of one hand through his hair, frustrated. “Every day I have Alphinaud aan Leveilleur as a prisoner in my Castrum rather than at the head of my support staff I feel as if an age passes.” Alphinaud laughed, face pressed into his hands, red with embarrassment. “I speak the truth,” Gaius insisted, leaned back against the wall, long legs stretched before him and arms crossed, his shirt stretching over the breadth of his chest.

Alphinaud, nose buried in the quilt, could smell Gaius’ scent—a mix of aftershave, sweat, and _alpha_. It was all Alphinaud _could_ smell, and watching Gaius like this, he could admire the firmness of his mouth, the hard line of his chin, angle of his nose. Belatedly, he noticed Gaius had recently bathed—his hair was damp at the temples and in the hollows behind his ears. While wet it was darker, looked soft to the touch.

Alphinaud found he had stopped paying even the slightest attention to whatever it was the Legatus was saying, his only audience himself. A month ago, you could not have paid Alphinaud to listen to the Legatus of the XIVth ramble about the gloom in Mor Dhona. Now, he would have normally listened with rapt attention.

At the moment, while watching Gaius’ lips was rewarding in its own way, he was tired of just listening and watching. Not when Gaius was this close, scant ilms separating them.

“Dēsiste cōntiōnāre.” _Stop talking_. Alphinaud said it without conscious thought, but he owned it now, for Gaius turned toward him, confusion writ plain upon his handsome face.

“Quid dīcēbās?” _Could you repeat that?_ Now he had spoken, Alphinaud realized, perhaps, he should have had a plan. He did not have a plan; he was just tired of those lips doing things that weren’t kissing him—a thought which was just as much of a surprise as having _told Gaius to stop talking in the first place_.

It was done now. Wrapped in the Legatus’ quilt, buried in the scent of him, such a tangible reminder that this man _cared for him_ , had come down in the middle of the night with the blanket off his own bed because Alphinaud had complained of a chill, the pain in Alphinaud’s hips seemed to have fallen away for the first time in nearly a week. If it was this much better from secondhand body heat, how much better would it be in his arms?

To the hells with it. “Sōliloquium tuī perōrēs,” he said, and for all that it was neither the _shut up_ of Low Eorzean nor the _þegi þu_ of his native Sharlayan, it was no less bold. And then, to be doubly sure, Alphinaud caught Gaius’ face in his hands and kissed him silent.

“Pardon?” Gaius’ voice came out thick, hoarse, choked in the back of his throat, the word muffled into Alphinaud’s mouth.

Alphinaud, frustrated, kissed him again. _Harder_. Pulled the quilt with him as he climbed into Gaius’ lap, loathe to lose the security he felt wrapped in the man’s scent.

 

 

 

Gaius’ hands fell onto Alphinaud’s hips, reaching for the heat of him, and the boy who had stood before all Idyllshire and taunted the Legatus for death, who from his cell had advised his captor (a man forty years his senior) on matters of state, who had taken his lips like he had once taken Eorzea— _whimpered_ into his mouth.

Gaius kissed him; caught himself, tore his mouth away, because he _hoped_ he knew better, but if the first could be called a whimper, Alphinaud _whined_ to be taken from his lips. Perhaps he didn’t know better. “Kiss me,” his boy demanded, hands pawing at Gaius’ shoulders through his gambeson, and from his wide eyes to the flush in his cheeks, he looked every part the needy alpha Livia had been at his age.

“Velīs mē coeam?” Gaius asked, and—lest there be any chance the boy would misunderstand—he repeated it in Low Eorzean: “You want me to have you?” Even as he spoke Alphinaud followed his mouth, kissing the corner of it, so intent Gaius had to take his shoulder in one broad hand and pull him back, watch him pant and strain against the hold as if it pained him to be separated even by ilms. “Answer me.”

Alphinaud paused a moment, looked up at Gaius with clear eyes through pale lashes. Wrapped in the Legatus’ own quilt in his lap, flushed and already desperate, he looked painfully young. But though unpresented, the boy was no child, and so when he gasped “ _Ita vero_ ,” Gaius did not question it. Sliding his hand from Alphinaud’s shoulder to the back of his neck, he curled his palm around the unmarked skin beneath the braid the boy dutifully put in each day (loosened now from what appeared to have been fitful sleep) and took his mouth.

Alphinaud was yielding in a way Gaius did not expect from such a strong-willed boy: he parted his lips for Gaius’ tongue, and only as he struggled to do more than let his mouth fall open and pant as Gaius filled it did he realize what should have been obvious, hidden behind the certainty of his desires. “You haven’t been kissed before.” Alphinaud shook his head. “You haven’t been touched.”

“No,” Alphinaud breathed, curling his fingers in Gaius’ gambeson to pull him down towards swollen lips. In his trousers, Gaius’ knot ached.

Broad hands again found narrow hips, and with them he pulled the boy up onto his knees, where Gaius no longer had to crane his neck to kiss him. He did not slow; Alphinaud would learn to keep up or he would simply be kissed. In his weeks in the Legatus’ acquaintance—in his _custody_ —the boy had never sought gentler treatment. In fact, he had all-but-demanded the opposite, the cause no doubt a lifetime of being underestimated. It was a frustration that Gaius, having presented at fourteen and gaining both his adult height and his beard the following year, could only imagine.

Gaius had underestimated him briefly the day they had met, and he had made a point not to do so again.

Alphinaud reacted seemingly as if he felt each touch half a second after being offered it: his tongue following Gaius’ as he licked into his mouth, and his hands, little as they were, only found the way into his gambeson when Gaius pulled it loose himself. Alphinaud groped at Gaius’ body, clumsy, finding the heat of him through his shirt more out of determination than forethought, seeking until he found the seams.

When Alphinaud’s narrow fingers began to seek his collar, tugging at his shoulders, he broke their kiss, caught the boy’s hand by his fine-boned wrist. Instead, he pressed it flat to his chest through the thin fabric of the shirt he still wore. To his credit, Alphinaud did not question it. He looked up at Gaius with lidded eyes. Gaius supposed he had been no better after he had first been knotted, or whatever lost point, weeks or months afterward, he had first been kissed.

When Gaius peeled the quilt from his shoulders, Alphinaud whimpered again, that desperate sound that made Gaius want to cover him. “I need—”

Gaius paid him no heed, stripping the too-thin shirt from his narrow shoulders, tossing it aside. "Hush, boy, I won't let you catch a chill."

His boy sobbed, collapsing against his chest when Gaius gathered him in his arms to make good on his word. Face pressed against his sternum, Alphinaud rubbed his cheek against Gaius’ chest, scenting him through the thin fabric of the shirt he still wore, the hair beneath rough against his smooth cheek. In Livia’s first rut she had been no better: what little composure she’d yet built lost entirely as she writhed in Gaius’ lap and ground her clit with its half-grown knot against his hip, only calming once he’d gotten her smallclothes open and taken it in hand, just as he now reached for the waist of Alphinaud’s and tugged them down.

Even two years younger, Livia had had a fulm of height on Alphinaud, and like as not thrice his mass, so it was no surprise that his cock was significantly smaller. Gaius took it, so small it barely even filled the space between his thumb and two fingers, stroked what little length of it there was, favoring the lower part just above the knot he didn't yet have, as if milking the fluid he couldn’t yet produce. Without that, all that betrayed when his boy came were his moans and the helpless, erratic thrusts of his hips, the tremble of his body between Gaius’ hands.

Alphinaud was left gasping, and, in fact, his boy was _crying_ , hands curled into fists in his shirt, clawing over his hard nipples as tears fell from heavy lashes onto his cheeks. “Was it enough?” Gaius asked, willing the answer to be _no_ , watching the tears run into his red lips as he swallowed thickly around them.

“It's not—it's not what I _need_.”

He kissed Alphinaud's soft mouth, tasting the salt of his tears, teasing himself as much as soothing the boy. “What do you need, my boy?”

“Mentula tuus, _duodēcim_ , mentula tuus accipere.” _Your cock,_ Twelve, _I want to be given your cock._ In his voice it sounded more a question than the order most alphas favored, but of the alphas who had previously demanded exactly that, Gaius couldn't think of one he more needed to give it to. His knot was full and pulsing untouched, the throb of it leaving him cursing as he opened his trousers with shaking hands, fumbling in his haste, not wishing to part his hands from Alphinaud’s hips.

“Have it,” Gaius urged, softer than a stark imperative. “Take it in your hands.” Alphinaud did, almost before he’d been asked, and both his hands together only just wrapped around the shaft of Gaius’ cock, just beneath the head. Had his knot been full, Alphinaud’s fingers could not have spanned it, and when one narrow thumb rubbed the slit as if on accident—

If— _when_ —they had another chance at this, in the guest quarters or Gaius’ own bed rather than the cot of a cell, the boy could slip his finger so easily into the slit of Gaius’ cock.  _Would_.

“Play all you like,” Gaius said, if Alphinaud even heard him. Gaius could barely hear his own voice over his heartbeat. “Glūbās.” Alphinaud blinked up at him, and Gaius realized at last he must not know the word; it would hardly be taught in school, where Alphinaud had surely gained what capability he had in Garlean.

“Pull back the,” he began in Low Eorzean, enunciated slowly for his own sake, “the skin at the head.” Alphinaud, who did not miss any spoken nuance, who Gaius had thought _incapable_ of being at a loss for words of his own, looked in that moment dumbfounded. Gently, Gaius took Alphinaud’s chin in one hand, his calloused fingers rough on the boy’s velvety skin—so soft it was not even yet growing stubble. His mouth was still open, like he couldn’t draw enough air past his swollen lips. “Are you well, boy?”

Alphinaud shook his head. “No—that is, yes. Yes, I’m well. I only—I haven’t. I haven’t presented.”

“You will soon enough,” Gaius replied, and Alphinaud buried his head back in his chest, silencing a moan with his mouth pressed wetly on the fabric of his shirt, inhaling his scent through the cloth. “Have you had your fill?” Gaius received a sad whine in answer, Alphinaud shaking his head without so much as lifting his face; he expected no more of the boy’s first time. “Accipe. Nōdus prēndās.” _Take it. You can hold the knot._

Alphinaud clasped both hands around it, and Gaius had to bite back a moan, sound carrying in the bare walls of the cell block.

His boy held no such inhibition. He gasped audibly, and Gaius looked down, panting, to see Alphinaud feeling the heat of his knot, the sheer size of it. Even both his hands cupped together around the swell of it were not enough to cover the full width.

Gently, Alphinaud squeezed him; Gaius cursed and growled Alphinaud’s name and cared little who would hear it. “You’ll make me come like this.” At once his boy moaned _no_ , and if the light were better, surely he could have seen Alphinaud flush deep pink down to his collarbones. “No?” Gaius repeated, incredulous and impressed and desperately aroused. “I’m not in rut. I’ve only one to give you. How will you have it?”

Alphinaud, so unlike him, once again could not find words to answer. He pulled his alpha forward _by the knot;_  forced a strangled sound from his throat. Gaius followed until his knees hit the bare cermet of the cell’s floor—and saw the position his boy was taking in front of him, twisting like a cœurl kitten mid-fall to land on his elbows and knees, thighs spread. Like this, his little cock was too small to even see, hidden by his body. Like Livia, he had no external testes; unlike Livia, the dark skin between his little cock and the impossible tightness of his asshole hid no open entrance to some blind-ended cunt, though he wept at the searching press of Gaius’ fingers.

No, the only hole that might be filled was his boy’s ass. It was as tiny as the rest of him, as untouched, and Alphinaud presented himself as though it was on offer.

As though Gaius would be allowed to _mount_ him.

_No_ , Gaius told himself, calling on years of discipline honed by the edge of Solus’ blade, whether dragged across skin barely hard enough to cut or held to his throat and ordered to mount but not tie. It was not the right time, not on the floor of a cell, and not with his boy, a _virgin_ , so frail Gaius could see each of the vertebræ in his spine as he presented himself. But that logic barely swayed him, the urge to press his fingers into that tight pucker, to push with the head of his _cock_ —

Small as his boy was, that was how you did the kind of damage that _killed_. He should put an end to this, let it go no further. Something pulled hard at the base of his stomach when he thought of it, hot and unfamiliar.

Gaius reached for Alphinaud’s narrow hips, held them and pulled them back and _up_ , thumbs parting his cheeks, and his boy wailed.

“I’ve got you,” Gaius murmured, careful of his weight despite his aching need as he curled his body over the line of Alphinaud’s back and settled at last with a soft groan to his boy’s sigh. Alphinaud’s skin felt feverish on Gaius’ chest, damp for all he claimed to be chilled. “It won’t be so cold come tomorrow night. I’ll have the guest chambers heated warm.”

“It’s too sore, Gaius, _please_ ,” Alphinaud whined instead of replying, and Gaius dug his thumbs into his hips, falling into the dimples low on his back.

“These are?” Alphinaud nodded, hair brushing Gaius’ chest, and so he did it again, rubbing circles into his back.

“More,” he pled, “give me _more_ ,” and Gaius was helpless as Alphinaud rutted back against him. But to give him what he ordered, or the closest he could do without weeks of training that sweet little asshole or tearing it apart, was impossible. Instead, he took hold of his cock and pressed it between Alphinaud’s thighs, until he settled, caught just behind his boy’s cock, and at the angle he could almost press _in_ , less give than Livia but more than Solus.

“It’s not— _Gaius_ —”

“Hush,” Gaius commanded him, and when Alphinaud did not—could not—obey he laid his hand over his boy’s mouth, slipped fingers past his lips. It did nothing to deaden the sound but did let Gaius fuck his mouth the only way he possibly could, the angle alone saving him from pressing too deep and making Alphinaud choke even on his fingers.

Alphinaud squeezed his knot between his thighs, or just tightened under his touch, Gaius couldn’t tell and it hardly mattered, too-close already as he shoved his hand underneath his boy’s hips and reached for the head of his own cock between Alphinaud’s narrow thighs. A shift of the angle left him with his fingers around _both_ of their cocks, Alphinaud’s a fraction of the size on top of his own at such an angle every touch ground his thumb into it, and when the boy came again he dragged Gaius with him by the pressure on his knot alone not unlike the sweet agony of a tie, Alphinaud clawing at the cermet with blunt nails and sobbing his name and grinding his hips back like if he only tried he could have more, have it _all_.

There was no tie proper—there couldn’t be, only caught as he was between his boy’s thighs—but Alphinaud shuddered against him through the length of his release as if there was, his breathing a high whine. Without rut or a tie, it was perhaps but five minutes in sum total, and even still, it was enough to leave Gaius winded, worn out by their exertions.

Disentangling themselves took nearly as long as entangling had in the first place, and once they were free from one another, Alphinaud mumbled a displeased “Eugh.” Gaius grinned as his boy shifted, shucking his trousers at last, kicking them free of his now-discarded boots. Leaning against the side of the cot, still breathless in the afterglow, he watched as Alphinaud scowled, dragged his fingers through the mess on his chest, held his hand up.

His expression was not pleased. It was the look of a man who had just trod on something wet while wearing socks. “Must there be this much?” Gaius rolled his head back and laughed.

“You are in for a _terrible_ surprise when you present, Master Leveilleur, if you think this is a great deal.” Alphinaud’s handsome face creased with momentary consternation as he absently stuck his fingers in his mouth, sucking Gaius’ spend off of them, leaving the pit of his stomach knotting at the sight. It was so thoughtless, and yet—

From the angle alone, his come had struck Alphinaud’s face, a few drops beside his mouth (lips swollen and red, bitten raw, still wet with his tears) that he licked up without thinking, marks of ownership left on his skin that Gaius would not so quickly forget. It was all across his chest, too, and the backs of his arms where he’d held himself up; spattered over his little peaked nipples, hard from the cold, and in the hollow of his sternum, down across his stomach. In the half-grown thatch of his pubic hair; on his little cock, soft between his legs.

Gaius’ spend dripped down Alphinaud’s thighs, and he reached down between them himself, fingertips searching and seeking down almost to his ass, pressing through and painting that seed to his skin.

Gaius looked away, took a deep breath, because he could not bear to see Alphinaud use his come as slick to push his fingers into his tight hole. He would injure himself watching that.

When he looked back, Alphinaud had curled back into the quilt, scrubbing his fingers clean on the hem uncaring of the mess he made (Gaius added _laundry_ to the things that would need to be done having just broken his boy out of gaol). His hair was matted damp with sweat at his temples, and he tugged the end of his braid out, dragged his fingers through it to try and straighten some of the knots. In dishabille, he looked like a statue come to life—what was once jagged angles of flawless stone, rendered soft by sandpaper and patience.

The effect was ruined by his still-blotchy flush and the half-lidded exhaustion to his eyes. “Are we trading rooms?” Alphinaud said at last, one eyebrow arched, his voice deep and rough from screaming, finger-combing his hair back to order. “You look quite at home there.”

Gaius shut his eyes. “Not so different from campaign.” He missed the days of his youth sometimes, fucking on army cots if he was lucky, a floor if he wasn’t. The floor was good for your back. He still regularly napped on his when nobody (Livia) was looking. “I’ll take you to bed properly,” he added, yawning. “A few minutes more; I’m not so young as I once was.”

Alphinaud made a noise that sounded suspiciously like _senīliter_ , pushed into his armpit, and sighed.

By the time he gathered Alphinaud into his arms, the boy had fallen asleep, dozed off between one breath and the next, his face soft and gentle with repose. His usual fire was snuffed out for now, lost in exhaustion, and it was easier for Gaius to just carry him wrapped in the quilt than to try to coax him back out of it. When he settled them both in his bed, managing to throw the blankets over them before he was out, it was the easiest sleep he had found in months.

 

 

 

Gaius awoke at dawn with hunger pangs in his belly from a sweet smell, almost cloying, and found that, beside him, Alphinaud was screaming.

Or rather, Alphinaud was _not_ screaming—a much more practiced, and in this moment, in this rise of heated pheromones, a much more _worrying_ thing. Core, thighs, and flexors all tonic and shaking, Alphinaud’s wrists and head thrashed rhythmically against the bed, the jerking movements mistakable nearly for a seizure if Alphinaud’s eyes had not been blinking, had not been following Gaius as he got up from the bed.

Alphinaud (or the thrashing) had thrown off all the blankets, and heatsick—the sweet smell of it, the answering heat in Gaius’ own belly unmistakable—left the omega with chattering teeth despite the sheen of sweat upon the little thing’s flushed brow and naked skin.

“Quod requīrēs, puella?” Gaius said. _What do you need, lass?_ He knew little and less of the needs of omegas, having only spent any considerable time around his son’s bonded, Nero nan Scæva, and wishing often he had not.

“In balneīs ipsum merge,” Alphinaud bit out. _Go drown yourself in the baths._ A ragged gasp, and then: “Da mihi pūgiōnem.” _Get me a knife._

Gaius wasn’t alarmed. He had lived to tell tale of countless battlefields, tales with that vicious, snapping pain that turned on friend and foe alike a stock character, and omegas had been going through heat and surviving the experience since before there had been a concept of battlefields, of even telling tales. His omega—

— _his?_

He’d never found the smell of heat anything but nauseating, never found any omega attractive. But Alphinaud—

His omega’s inhale came through bared teeth, head and clawing hands all curled in close to the chest with eyes screwed closed. Thin strands of loose hair clung to Alphinaud’s sweaty cheeks, and even flush with heatsick Gaius found the bird-boned little thing beautiful.

“Does the thrashing _help_ at all?” he asked curiously.

On Alphinaud’s exhale (ragged, slow) came: “Stīpitem adiciō īlicet abeās?” _If I throw a stick at you, will you fuck off?_ And then the lass truly _did_ scream, an animal cry not unlike that of the dying. Shaking, tears and sweat indistinguishable on Alphinaud’s face, “ _Da mihi pūgiōnem_ ,” came once more, and sharper. “Irru— _æ!_ —irru _mēre_ , da mihi p–pūgiōnem.”

Gaius was alarmed. He went at once to find a knife amongst his things, suddenly uncertain—in the way of all emergencies—where he kept them.

At his back, Alphinaud shouted. “Puella non sum!” _I’m not a girl!_ “Et—et non vocā mē cui non _liceō!” And don’t_ call _me what I’ve not permitted!_

Gaius paused in his search for a knife, whatever it was he was getting it for. His own murder, he supposed, was still upon the table. “I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it. More shortly, allowing the stress into his voice: “What am I meant to call you?”

Rather than answer, his omega whined raw-voiced, head slamming back once—twice—thrice more against the bed. Alphinaud’s blunt fingernails scraped at the linens.

That was hardly helpful. Gaius had very few kind words in his soldier’s vocabulary applicable to omegas, nor men who took like roles. “Pathica—catamītus—” Both received violent shakes of the head, and well enough. He couldn’t imagine calling Alphinaud either. “Puta,” he suggested, thinking of the kindly way his mother used it of children he grew up with and not of the tone which soldiers took. No. He passed over _uxor_ to be, perhaps, discussed when he was not procuring the weapon of his murder. _Dēliciæ_ , and the Allag _paîs_ , which Alphinaud did not recognize, were tentatively permitted; anything Gaius could think of which suggested a gender was sworn at; _fīliolus_ received only a flat _quid?_ in response.

“Puell,” Gaius suggested, finally finding a dagger amongst his things. It wasn’t really a word, as such, but it was logically derived from one, and he was running out of ideas. _Little boy_ , a bit to the left.

Alphinaud, ashen with pain, pushed up on elbows to say wonderingly, “I don’t hate that. Give me the knife.”

He did so, passing it over with the sheathed blade in his palm so the hilt went to Alphinaud’s shaking hand. In his little omega’s hand and proportions, the dagger seemed to be a shortsword. Fragile chest heaving, Alphinaud bit down on the leather sheath to free the blade with those shaking hands and a jerking, too-fast motion, fingernails—Gaius realized suddenly—torn from the scratching.

Torn from scratching at _fabrics_.

The sheath was tossed aside, and the knife went between Alphinaud’s spread thighs, whole body still shaking. In the right hand, Alphinaud held the blade steady against the bed; in the left, held the skin taut and the little cock out of the way. Then, curling halfway to the side to bite into Gaius’ pillow, Alphinaud brought the dagger up in a single swift movement, moaning with relief as the tiny abdomen Gaius hadn’t even realized was distended flattened out, the newly-cut omega cunt soaking the bed with blood and heat-slick.

So _that_ was what the knife was for.

The pain Alphinaud must have been in, full of all of that with nowhere for it to go, needing to be fucked and not having a cunt—that kind of pain was unimaginable. It must have been overwhelming. No _wonder_ he had been snapped at; threatened even in heat, when omegas were said to be obsessed bar none with the happiness of their alphas.

And sure enough, Gaius’ little omega used one shaking hand to push sweat-matted hair back from eyes which pain had abandoned, leaving only wanton, desperate _need_. Blinked wide up at him, shaking thighs still spread wide, wet lips of that new-cut cunt red and clotting. Even with a cunt, even in heat, Alphinaud would be so _very_ tight. Likely painfully so, for them both.

His knot ached.

“Have you run out of ideas?” Alphinaud said lightly, flirtatiously, and it took Gaius a moment to place the comment. _Non vocā mē cui non liceō_ , spoken like someone who certainly did not speak Garlean for a first language, but was canny, clever enough to adapt vocabulary that could not have been heard more than once or twice. Truly, Alphinaud would one day make for a brilliant politician.

“No,” Gaius said. “Oh! Yes. Pullus.”

“Do I look like a bird to you?”

He looked at his fragile little omega. “You would have me answer that truthfully?”

Alphinaud picked up the knife on the bedspread and threw it at him.

 

 

 

“On Aspects In Ancient Garlemald” Excerpt taken from _De Lex Imperio: Modern Translations and Notes_ by L’eah Himlha, Introduction, pg. ii:

While very little of the _Lex Sola_ exists in 8AE, some excerpts survived within Flavius goe Justinianus’ _Institutes_ (c. 700 7AE), including a punishment for alphas who mistreated omegas. For Garlemald—binary as it was—these laws were startlingly progressive. For example, _Ins. 4, 18, 3_ quotes from the _Lex Sola de Adulteriīs Cœrcendis_ (translation and original text found in full on pg. 179):

“The [...] _Lex Sola_ also punishes the offense of seduction, when an alpha, without the use of force, deflowers an unpresented [child], an omega either virgin or unbonded without bonding or marrying them, or seduces a respectable widow of any aspect. The penalty imposed by the statue on such offenders is the confiscation of half their estate if they are of or above des, jen, or pyr. For those of lower orders, they should suffer corporal punishment and banishment.”

While the _Lex Sola_ specifies alphas as the assaulters/instigators here, in van Hydrus’ commentaries on the _Institutes of Gaius_ as well as the _Twelve Tables_ , there are numerous references to examples of other aspects being similarly punished.

In _de Domuī Iūris_ (d.DI 6, 21, 9-37), van Hydrus gives the famous example of the “Busy Omega” (translation taken from _Regula van Hydrus: On The Laws, Unabridged_ ). This “busy omega,” he says “found enough time [between pregnancies] to find many alphas to fill her.” When the omega was caught having had no less than six children by different alphas (causing significant distress to two of the alphas, whose hormones had undergone bonding pheromone changes) the omega ( _fae_ ) was first fined for half of her estate before being given the option of banishment or marriage to one of the two heat-bonded alphas. According to van Hydrus, she chose banishment, and the remainder of her estate was divided between the six children.

There is no doubt that Garlemald’s treatment of omegas as being under the control of the _alphafamilias_ was antiquated. Despite this, they had more rights than some modern societies: omegas owned property under their own names, were elected to the Senate (as in the case of the “Busy Omega”), acted as Primus Architectus (c.f., the semi-apocryphal Nero nan Scæva), were not forced to keep custody of children born out of bond, and had legal rights and protection when heatsick. In these ways, the Empire was remarkably progressive for its age, especially in comparison to cultures like Old High Sharlayan (see: _The Collected Journals of A. aan Leveilleur_ , Louisoix Leveilleur’s _Letters from a Farmer_ , or Næl van Darnus’ _Orations_ ), wherein the association of the omega aspect with criminality and debasement was such that alphas whose knots had been slit for their unnatural behaviors were thenceforth omegas in the eyes of the law. Even in New Sharlayan under a heavily Eorzean influence, unaspected adults were still legally children and omegas who entered heat without a bond were considered responsible for any public indecency that occurred.

One of the most curious examples raised in _de Domuī Iūris_ (d.DI 6, 19, 4-6) is related to _Ins. 4, 18, 2_ on “those who [...] indulge in unspeakable lust with the same aspect.” van Hydrus’ example comes from a case of an Optio being used by a Tribunus Angusticlavius, wherein he refrains from giving his (usually lengthy) opinion on why he disagreed with the judge (ibid.):

“This same disrespectful lout then did tell a tale of a Senatus who had taken to his bed his ward, not yet presented nor of age, upon the urging of his Better. ‘If,’ said the prosecutor, ‘that great lady could make use of her Master as his mount and still marry and beget heirs to death’s house, even when so ill-used, surely there is no damage to virility from being climbed upon?’

“He was thus removed from the chamber to insults and boos, for all and sundry know that such defamation has been long used to discredit the _materfamilias_.”

According to van Hydrus, the case ended in the Angusticlavius’ execution and the Optio acquitted for the crime of seduction of her ‘better’. Records show that she was later offered a position within the XIVth legion.

  
[11] Third-person singular perfect passive indicative of 'subigō', both 'served under' and 'been brought as a female to a male animal to be broken'.  
[12] 'Contubernium, contuberniī', both 'military attendant' and 'a marriage as that of slaves'.  
[13] Third-person singular imperfect passive indicative of 'coeō', 'allied with', 'copulated with' and 'united [in marriage] with'.  
[14] Superlative adjective form of 'fidēlis', was used interchangeably for loyal soldiers, servants, etc., as well as extremely faithful wives (see R. van Hydrus).  
[15] Third-person singular pluperfect passive indicative of 'impedicō', 'had been shackled to'. This form of the word is not attested anywhere else, and has long been treated as a typographical error. However, as it is in every version of the text, it is more likely an intentional pun on 'in' + 'pædīcātus': 'had been sodomized [by]'.  
[16] 'Prōstrātus, prōstrāta', 'prostrated'.  
[17] 'Pudīcitia, pudīcitiæ', 'chastity, modesty' or, more literally 'manhood/Alphahood'. The reverse of this, 'impudīcitia', was the willingness of an Alpha to be penetrated.  
[18] Third-person singular pluperfect passive indicative of 'saltus', which when used in the passive became the pejorative 'had been mounted like an Omega'.  
[19] Third-person singular perfect active indicative of 'augeō', both 'increase' and 'exalted' (in the poetic sense of an Omega exalting their Alpha, see R. van Hydrus).  
[20] Primary sources often refer to Bælsar as 'canīcula' or '[the Emperor’s] little bitch.'  
[21] Third-person singular pluperfect passive indicative of 'accipiō', both 'had received' and 'submitted sexually to'.  
[22] Third-person singular imperfect active indicative of 'impleō', both 'satisfied' and 'inseminated'. This is the only active verb in this passage used for iyl Bælsar, implying common knowledge assumed that this promotion was due in part to having mounted the _Emperor_.  
[23] 'Ūsurpātiō, ūsurpātiōnis', and 'post-', both 'after conquering' and 'after [his] usage'.  
[24] Third-person singular imperfect active indicative of 'largior', both 'granted' and 'lavished (as a gift to, effectively, a sugar baby)'.  
[25] Of the fourteen legions of Imperial Garlemald, the XIVth was the only one Solus zos Galvus established as Emperor, as well as the only legion in the entire history of Garlemald to be levied for an intended Legatus.

**Author's Note:**

>  ** _THE BLACK WOLF’S KNOT SINGLE?_**  
>  By Wannbryda Aergaentwyn, _Mythril Eye_
> 
> Ever heard of _The Boy And The Dragon Gay?_ Who hasn't—the literary classic was lost when The Great Gubal Library burned down during the Fourth Umbral Moon Rebellion. Historians have raged over the knowledge lost ever since. The Great Gubal Library might not be rising again, but something else sure seems to have been unflagging after the Fourth Umbral Rebellion, at least according the journals in the box labelled “A.L. S. ROSA”, rediscovered two months ago in the Old-Imperial Library in Garlemald. When opened, there were a total of fourteen journals inside, dated over nearly twenty years. The collection of manuscripts now called _The Private Journals of A. L._ seem destined to clear up one of the greatest historical mysteries of the entire Garlean period.
> 
> Gaius iyl Bælsar’s abrupt political shift as Consul of Eorzea in 16 7UE has been blamed by historians on everything from his being replaced by a body double to a serious blow to the head. General consensus had been on the budding relationship between his daughter and her future wife letting him interact with Eorzeans, with experts crediting Alisaie sas Leveilleur with all of iyl Bælsar’s policy shifts before the War of Succession.
> 
> Naming even a few requires its own paragraph: Rhitahtyn sas Arvina becoming Admiral of Limsa Lominsa via the Trident, the XIVth-led excursion that helped end the Dragonsong War, the highroad system that revitalized the failing economic structure of Idyllshire, reestablishing the Seedseer Council, funding Lilira aan Lira to give her the resources needed to start the Ul’dahn Civil War, and arming the Kobold and Sahagin tribes to let them go to war with the League of Lost Bastards—and that was just the first three months of the final year before the War of Succession.
> 
> Yeah, turns out it wasn’t that.
> 
> Dr. Dadavis Davis, Ph.D., (Chair of the Department of Classics at Garlemald Imperio-Republico and Édouart Gibbont Centennial Endowed Professor of Garlean Identity Studies) explained the situation to the _Mythril Eye_ via tome-mail:
> 
> “A.L. is a loaded pair of letters. Even just an overview requires a numbered list:
> 
> 1: Alisaie (a diminutive of the Old Elezen name Aalis, meaning “a noble sort”) sas Leveilleur, who was a Præfectus Castrorum in the XIVth Legion and Louisoix Leveilleur’s granddaughter.  
> 2: A(lisaie?) Leveilleur, Omega to either or both of Gaius iyl Bælsar and Livia van Junius.  
> 3: A. aan Leveilleur, who was a relative of Alisaie sas Leveilleur, possibly her younger brother. He wrote _The Collected Journals of A. aan Leveilleur_ and was killed in the 4UM Rebellion. In the few places his first name is attested, it varies as Alsinau, Aluino, & Alsinaudh. In my novel, I went with a name derived from High Sharlayan, [Alphi]+[naud], “elezen’s desperation”; a fitting name for a child born in the wake of his grandfather’s martyrdom.  
> 4: A. Junius, Livia van Junius’ wife, whose name is also sometimes given as A. L. Junius.  
> 5: A.L.—widely assumed to be Arenvald Lentinus, a half-Garlean Ala Mhigan—Gaius iyl Bælsar’s personal assistant from 16 7UE onwards, who kept meticulous and detailed meeting minutes and notes throughout iyl Bælsar’s entire career.  
> 6: A.L., Gaius iyl Bælsar’s lover/Omega, who could very well have been any of the previous five A.L.—or none of them.”
> 
> Dr. Davis might well be _the_ expert on what’s jokingly called the “ **A** nother **L** over” problem. Her historical romance novel _Novæ Bonus Res_ is based on her dissertation research, and portrays a late Imperial Garlemald where those 3rd, 5th, and 6th A.L.s _are_ one and the same, meeting during the 4UM Rebellion and starting a relationship soon after. It’s nearly 70% erotica. “The novel was really just me putting to the page something I’d always wondered about,” Dr. Davis told us. “It was never meant to be anything more than a piece of fiction. Trust me when I say I’m as floored by the stuff in the _Private Journals_ as anybody else is.”
> 
> This would be because not only does it support the central conceit of _Novæ Bonus Res_ , but also—and this is a high bar to hit—“the stuff” in the _Private Journals_ makes the novel’s infamous “daddy makes you weak in the knees” scene look safe-for-work. As in, legal said we aren’t even allowed to hyperlink to its page on Hydapedia because it’s so salacious. Legal _did_ say that I could put the following search keys in the article, though: “Private Journals” “Garlemald” “Black Wolf” “knot”. So do with that knowledge what you wish.
> 
> Who would have thought that nearly three thousand years after Gaius iyl Bælsar’s death, _Heirsbane_ would still be making history. (Maybe we ought to change the name. _Heirsboon_ , anyone?)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [abolish & consume](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20769281) by [patrexes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrexes/pseuds/patrexes)




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